ly flung himself against the door, which was
banged in his face, and locked.

"The cowards!" panted Don, as he stood there in the darkness. "Why,
Jem!"

"Yes, Mas' Don."

"They won't let us go."

"No, Mas' Don, that they won't."

"I never thought the press-gang would dare to do such a thing as this."

"I did, sir. They'd press the monkeys out of a wild beast show if they
got the chance."

"But what are we to do?"

"I d'know, sir."

"We must let my uncle know at once."

"Yes, sir, I would," said Jem grimly; "I'd holloa."

"Don't be stupid. What's the good?"

"Not a bit, sir."

"But my uncle--my mother, what will they think?"

"I'll tell yer, sir."

"Yes?"

"They'll think you've run away, so as not to have to go 'fore the
magistrates."

"Jem, what are you saying? Think I'm a thief?"

"I didn't say that, sir; but so sure as you don't go home, they'll think
you've cut away."

"Jem!" cried Don in a despairing voice, as he recalled the bundle he had
made up, and the drawer left open.

"Well, sir, you was allus a-wanting to go abroad, and get away from the
desk," said Jem ill-naturedly--"oh, how my head do ache!--and now you've
got your chance."

"But that was all nonsense, Jem. I was only thinking then like a
stupid, discontented boy. I don't want to go. What will they say?"

"Dunno what they'll say," said Jem dolefully, "but I know what my Sally
will say. I used to talk about going and leaving her, but that was
because I too was a hidyut. I didn't want to go and leave her, poor
little lass. Too fond on her, Mas' Don. She only shows a bit o'
temper."

"Jem, she'll think you've run away and deserted her."

"Safe, Mas' Don. You see, I made up a bundle o' wittles as if I was
a-going, and she saw me take it out under my arm, and she called to me
to stop, but I wouldn't, because I was so waxy."

"And I made up a bundle too, Jem. I--I did half think of going away."

"Then you've done it now, my lad. My Sally will think I've forsook
her."

"And they at home will think of me as a thief. Oh, fool--fool--fool!"

"What's the use o' calling yourself a fool, Mas' Don, when you means me
all the time? Oh, my head, my head!"

"Jem, we must escape."

"Escape? I on'y wish we could. Oh, my head: how it do ache."

"They will take us off to the tender, and then away in some ship, and
they will not know at home where we are gone Jem, get up."

"What's the good, sir? My head feels like